Death Comes to the Mortician
by Richardo Henderson
Summary: Daisy kills Edgar the Mortician to save Jim Whitfield. But Johnny covers for her and takes the blame for the killing.


Death Comes to the Mortician

Edgar the Mortician, a.k.a. Donald Larsen the Ponzi schemer, tiptoed across Gilead Funeral Home's backyard avoiding the streetlight that showered onto the grass and he reached the backdoor where yellow tapes wrapped the entire wall. He cussed and spat onto the grass and put on his gloves. After taking out the keys, he unlocked the door and while grasping the tapes, pushed the handle. The door opened and the stench drifted out of the entry. He stooped and crawled below the tapes into the foyer where the police had left empty soda cans and used napkins. Light was seeping through the window beside a bench and he stood and strolled along the hallway pictures of funeral services decorated the walls. He missed selling funeral services and financial instruments, the former more than the latter. But in general he enjoyed bargaining with clients and squeezing the last penny out of a deal, whether he was selling a coffin or mortgage-backed securities. And he knew he would sell again as long as his heart still pumps. He could no longer be Donald Larsen or Edgar the Mortician, but he would have a new name and a new face, probably a handsomer face.

He stepped into his office and reminisced the times he sat in that leather chair persuading a daughter or a son, a father or a mother to buy the buffet package for their deceased ones. Having optimized the value chain, he had reaped higher margins than the average funeral homes and prided himself as an entrepreneur. Though he had owned the funeral home for years, he had only gotten his hands dirty, so to speak, only for a few months. And he had perfected the art. Now, he had to move on to another business, perhaps as a jeweler.

He pushed aside the cabinet and knelt in front of the wall and took out his flashlight. After feeling the hardwood floor for half a minute, he grasped a handle and opened a trapdoor. He pointed the flashlight at the safe and turned the knob to open it. Though the police had frozen his bank account in the U.S., he had enough cash to go to Switzerland and access his umpteen millions and he could start over again, a jeweler or perhaps an oil tycoon. He had enough money to buy a few oil fields.

He removed the stacks of banknotes from the safe and put them into his knapsack. And he would be receiving another bag of cash from Father Jones, a.k.a. Jim Whitfield. That buffoon thought he had deceived everyone, but Edgar smelled the rat a mile away. After all, they had used the same plastic surgeon, with whom Edgar still had to make an appointment.

He was glad to have sold the church to a TV evangelist out to expand his franchise and broaden his clientele. The transaction reaped about a million dollars and he had transferred the money to his Swiss bank account. That was a close one. A few days later and his money would be stuck in limbo.

Now, he only had to leave Gilead, this dreary old town.

But as he stepped out of his office, he heard footsteps in the storage room and he stopped and listened but only the rats were squealing. He tiptoed down the hallway search for a crowbar or an iron pipe, but the police seemed to have confiscated them. When he reached the visitor's lounge, he stepped in and found on the table several empty bags of potato chips, all half-full. What a waste these officers. He would have finished every chip in each bag. The police had confiscated the magazines, the mint drops, and even the business cards, but left the plaques on the wall. He might be able to reuse them by writing a new name over the old one but he decided to buy new certificates and diplomas.

He left the lounge and went into the storage room where a dozen low-cost coffins still sat on the floor. What a waste. He would have moved them if they weren't so heavy. After walking up to a cherry wood coffin, he put his hand on the shellac surface and he rubbed it for half a minute before lifting the lid. He pressed the inside padding and imagined how comfortable it would be to sleep in it. But of course, he still had many years before needing the coffin.

When he heard footsteps behind him, he patted the coffin and said, "Don't you wish you could have one of these babies? Tell you what, I'll give this to you for free. Aren't I generous?"

"You sure a bad, bad man."

He had expected Jim Whitfield with the money, but he heard a woman's voice, and he turned around and saw a young lady in blue blouse. He had seen her before. But where? An innocent looking face, pretty eyes. Then he remembered, at the double funeral for Mr. Walker and Mrs. Chandler. She was there. She was Walker's daughter. Daisy Walker.

"Did you come here to look for a coffin you mom in the middle of the night? Yes, yes, I've heard she's been admitted into the sanitarium. Well, you're right to prepare for the worst. You never know. Things happen and it's better to be safe than sorry. And you're in luck. I got just the right coffin." He patted the open coffin and squeezed the padding. "You wouldn't believe how comfortable it is. And with the buffet service, I can take twenty percent off. Of course, you'd have to take the marble headstone. But I can throw in the sparkling wine for reception. I'll even find a minister for you. Or a priest. Or a monk. But the offer is only good tonight. What'd you say? Come, this is no time dither. After this is a matter of death." He grabbed the album on the table beside the coffin and opened it to show the pictures of various headstones.

"You stop blackmailing Father Jones or God punish you."

"Ah, so Jim Whitfield sent you to deliver the dough. Yeah, I didn't expect him to have the guts to see me, the coward. Doesn't matter, I'll take the money from you. Then we can discuss my offer. It still stands but don't take too long to consider or you'd have to pay more than double for everything tomorrow."

"This here's you last chance. You repent and save yourself or you go to hell."

"I see the preacher has infected you with his mumble jumble. Come on, snap out of it. His brainwashing only works if you let him. It makes sad to see you fall for it."

"God have mercy on you. God have mercy on me."

Edgar was putting the album on the table when he saw Daisy raised her arm, a gun in her hand shaking. He heard the wind whispering above the ceiling and saw the shadow of the gun on the floor and he shook his head. "Did he tell you to shoot me? You're a fool. If you kill me, you'd end up in jail and he'd find another town and build another church and con another group of followers. And he'd replace you with new mistresses. Listen, I can split the money with you. There's plenty to go around for the both of us. You can get a good start with half a million dollars."

"I sure hate you. God forgive me." Daisy raised the gun and pointed the barrel at his face.

"Hey, watch where you point that stuff. Someone can get hurt if you accidentally pulled the trigger. As I said, the only one who benefits from this will be Jim Whitfield, your Father Jones. So, come on, give-"

A bang echoed in the storage room and Edgar felt a force pushing him away and he groaned and tripped over a chair and fell into the coffin. He felt the padding hugging his body. He felt the blood warming his face. Then the cobweb on the ceiling began to fade.

#

Daisy shut her eyes when she squeezed the trigger and when she opened them, Edgar the Mortician was lying inside the coffin, one arm dangling over the side. She saw blood on the coffin's padding and the smell of gunpowder irritated her nose. Goose bumps covered her arms. When she realized she had killed the mortician, she dropped her gun and her cold hands shook. But she wanted to shout to the world that she had saved Jim from the blackmailer and he wouldn't have to look over his back. She had shown her love to him by killing Edgar and she rejoiced in her courage though the thought of a dead man scared her. After waiting for a minute and not seeing Edgar move, she walked out of the room and down the hallway, her shadow caressing the wall.

Before reaching the front door, she heard a noise in the storage room and she turning around wondering whether the mortician would walk into the hallway, blood dripping down his face onto his chest. Her heart thumped and she struggled to breathe. She wanted to move her legs but they wouldn't obey her. Edgar was going to come out and kill her. Maybe he had died and his spirit was going to haunt her for the rest of her life. Did God abandon her for killing the man? Yes, she would go to hell and burn forever. She shivered. But she had done it for love and she loved Jim forever and ever and she was willing to go to hell for him.

She waited.

She heard a thump.

She shut her eyes and hoped the mortician would shoot her with the same gun. She didn't to die painfully. A quick death, that's what she wanted.

When she opened her eyes, no one was in the hallway and she turned and stepped through the front door wondering when the bullet would reach her skull. She breathed the night air and the breeze caressed her skin and walked down the porch. The stars were twinkling in the sky and she remembered the first time she made love with Jim. She wanted to remember that night when the bullet takes her life. She walked across the yard and the streetlight cast her shadow against the fence and she wanted Jim to hold her for the last time.

#

After buying a double cheese burger and large fries from the McDonald's and walking toward Main Street, Johnny Chandler saw Daisy sneaking across Gilead Funeral Home's front yard, her shadow wriggling under the streetlight. He was surprised to see her tiptoeing on the grass and he wondered why she wanted to enter the funeral home that had been sealed by the police. While sipping the soda, he followed her and walking across the empty street and stood under an elm street. He chewed the French fries while watching her walk up the porch. She tried the front door but could open it. After peeping through the window for a minute, she walked around the house.

He took out the cheeseburger and bit into it and he entered the yard and treaded on the grass. The breeze was playing with the flag above the porch and its shadow was crawling on the grass. Nearby, crickets were chirping and he wished he could join them in the autumn symphony. As he passed a window, a light flickered inside the funeral home and he leaned against the wall and peeped through the windowpane. But he only saw darkness and he walked along the wall toward the back of the house where a door squeaked. He took another bite of the cheeseburger and poked his head out of the corner and saw the backdoor opened. After finishing the cheeseburger, he searched for a pipe and after finding a branch, he approached the backdoor and entered the funeral home when the stench nauseated him and he wanted to vomit. He drank the soda to calm his stomach and he ate the fries until he felt better. He listened and heard voices from a room and he tiptoed along the hallway gripping the branch in one hand and the cup of soda in the other. As he sipping his drink, he recognized Daisy's voice and he approached a door where a dim light leaked into the hallway. He sidled along the wall and sneaked up to the door and listened to Edgar the Mortician telling Daisy not to point her gun at him.

Damn bastard but ripping us of them precious dollars. I could might of bought a freaking house with them money.

When he poked his head into the entryway, he saw Daisy pulling the trigger and after a bang, the gun kicked back and her body shuddered. He thought she would fall but she took several steps back and steadied herself on a coffin.

Edgar the Mortician whined and while blood dripped from his forehead, he slid into the coffin and lay there peacefully.

Johnny wished the mortician could have moaned a bit longer before he died. The death was too easy for him. But when he looked at Daisy and her pale face and trembling hands, he realized what she had done and what that would mean for her. Jail and maybe execution.

No, he ain't gonna let her die no death. Nor stay in no jail.

He loved her and wished he could be with her and he still didn't understand who had framed him with dope. He had thought about taking those stuffs but never did it.

Ain't got no money for them stuffs.

He had wanted to explain everything to Daisy but she would listen to him. And he understood her grief. He was only glad that Pastor Jim was taking care of her and she seemed to be happy talking to him. Mr. Jackson even told him that the pastor took Daisy to dinner. He was glad she didn't have to worry about him.

But now, she killed Edgar. He suspected it had something to do with the funeral. The mortician probably ripped her off just as he had him and his father.

The scumbag. You deserved the death. But Daisy, no, she don't deserve no blame.

He knew what he had to do and when Daisy turned her head and look toward the entryway, he ducked behind the wall hoping she hadn't seen him. He retreated down the hallway and entered a room where several marble and granite headstone were stacked against the wall and several urns sat on a picnic table.

When he heard footsteps in the hallway, he retreated into a dark corner and waited until Daisy had left. He dropped the branch and walked to a window where the streetlight seeped into the building and he watch Daisy's shadow dragging behind her on the grass until it disappeared outside the fence.

He finished his soda and threw the cup on the floor and he entered the storage room where Edgar was lying in the coffin. He picked up Daisy's gun and walked up to Edgar and he pointed the gun and shot him in the heart. Then dropped the gun and pushed the dead man's arm into the coffin. He shut the lid and went to the kitchen and he opened the refrigerator and found frozen pizza. After taking out the pizza, he removed the package and put the food into the microwave oven and heated it. He sat at the table facing a portrait of Donald Larsen and he ate the pizza. Then he left the funeral home and went home to sleep.


End file.
